


the smoking gun in my hand shot you dead.

by cowboytime (thegoatz)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, Hurt Dutch, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Slightly - Freeform, but. in nightmares. not Actual death, dutch has a nightmare, except. dont keep scrollling. and read the fic, hosea looks after dutch, i guess?, yes tehy gay. keep scrolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoatz/pseuds/cowboytime
Summary: It's serene in a way that Dutch never thought someone like him could ever have, and like this, Dutch has hope that everything will be okay: that maybe, just maybe, they'll get their happy ending.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	the smoking gun in my hand shot you dead.

Sleep has _never_ come easy for Dutch.

It never does for someone in his... line of work: you always live with the worry that someone might kill you in your sleep, or rob you blind, or, _hell_ , kill the people you love _and_ rob you blind.

Dutch doesn't think he's got a single good night's sleep since before Blackwater, and it was still a rare occurrence even back then.

But even when he did sleep there would be some times when he would get these horrible dreams, dreams that make him twist and turn, dreams make his eyes become blurry and his lungs _burn_ as they tried to breathe air that just wouldn't come.

In those dreams, he'd always see the most horrible things. He'd see the people he loved, _his family_ , die.

He'd see Sean with a bullet in between his eyes, or Kieran missing his head. He'd see Lenny shot dead with a bullet in his throat, or Molly or Susan dead at his feet, and they were all enough to make his heart race so fast and his breaths come in such short pants that he is near passing out, stuck in his own mind with no escape. But on the bad occasions, he'd even see Arthur and Hosea dying right before his eyes, and all he can do is stand there and watch, as he sees the people that he love die and their life drain right from their eyes.

They don't say anything to him, and Dutch supposes that it's worse, he'd give anything for them to say goddamn anything, but they don't. They just stare, their eyes showing their hurt, but when Dutch really looks into them - and he's had plenty of opportunities to do that with just how frequent they had become lately - he sees a knowing look. Their eyes tell him that they knew he wasn't good enough to save them, and it makes his heart feel heavy every moment when he's awake.

The past few days had been stressful, to say the least, but thankfully he hadn't had one of those dreams in a while, but then again, he had barely slept. He's getting ready for another sleepless night, a night full of planning, of scheming, of doing just about anything to keep him awake. But then Arthur comes up to him. He tells him to sleep in that tone of voice that lets Dutch know that he's not going to be argued with, but then again, Dutch doesn't know if he has it in him to even try and argue.

Dutch opens his mouth to say something, anything, to try and let his silver tongue spew out whatever bullshit his brain could think of to get Arthur off his back. But Arthur gives Dutch a look that Dutch hates, no, a look that Dutch _detests_ because whenever Arthur gives him that look, Dutch doesn't know if he could ever turn him down.

Nothing but pitiful splutters fall off his tongue, so instead he sighs dejectedly and hangs his head, "okay Arthur."

Arthur pats him on the arm, giving him that smile of pure relief when Dutch finally looks up at him again; it's a smile that Dutch can't help but return. Arthur leaves too soon, and Dutch finds himself wishing that he'd ask him to stay. He looks down at his bed, and slight dread washes over him. He doesn't believe in no god but he prays, _oh_ how he prays, that he doesn't get one of those dreams, and Dutch supposes that he really should be calling them nightmares because no dream that he's ever had has ever left him feeling so unbelievably alone.

He tentatively sits lays down and closes his eyes. His body needs the rest, his mind too, but he can't help but feel apprehensive. He pushes it all down because he hadn't had one of those nightmares for ages, and the gang was finally getting more and more money, getting closer with every passing day to their dream. Maybe his luck was on the up.

He forces himself to believe it because he has to if he wants to trick himself into getting some sleep. He closes his eyes and focuses on everything he can to avoid the creeping dread that threatens to devour him. He focuses on the sounds of the birds tweeting in the distance, the sound of the wind, and the loud snores coming from various people in camp, the last one bringing a small smile to his face.

Everything is good now. His family are safe, they are alive, and amidst that hope that so nearly bordered on a lie, Dutch finds himself asleep.

And he so, so, _almost_ made it through the whole night.

But apparently, his luck ran out.

Because he finds himself in that same place where he has been in many times before. It happens fast, and without warning like it always does, but it doesn't matter, because it still makes his heart pound in his chest just the same. This time feels different though, it feels more... real. 

He hears the bang of a gun, sees the smoke trail from a barrel that he's holding and... no this wasn't _right,_ this wasn't how it went.

He never held the gun. He always watched, unable to do anything except stand there and feel the air leave his body, but this time? This time he looks down and he sees his fingers curled around the grip of his revolver, and that hand is definitely him: it has those unmistakable rings that he had become so fond of. He suddenly lets go of the revolver, releasing it so quickly that one might have thought it burned him.

The smoke is still in the air, and it thins out to reveal Hosea.

And there's a hole in his chest.

Dutch runs towards him, that itself is new because all the times before it was like his feet were cemented in the ground, and he had to stand there and watch, but Dutch doesn't quite know if this is better. He manages to catch Hosea before he hits the ground, slowing his descent, with a hand on the back of his neck, and one right where the bullet hole is.

There's so much blood.

Blood that _he_ caused.

It all feels so real, and that, almost familiar, shortness of breath comes, his tongue starting to tingle. He tries to speak, tries to apologise, tries to get help, to say, to do _anything_ except see the pain that he caused. But nothing happens. He covers the hole in Hosea's chest with his hands trying to stop the blood flow, but it doesn't work, and the only sounds he can hear are Hosea's pained gasps for air.

He needs to fix this; he has to save Hosea because he can't bear to be the reason that he dies. He calls out his name because it's all he can do through his own gasps for air. He cries out again for him, silently begging for him to say something, but he never does. He stares up at him, just like always, that same hurt that Dutch just so desperately wants to forget, plastered on Hosea's face, almost mocking Dutch for his inability to save the people who meant the most to him.

 _And when had breathing become so difficult?_

Every rugged, pained, heaving, breath that Hosea takes makes Dutch's heart ache more and more. His eyes begin to slip close and Dutch begs for him to stay awake.

Dutch has never begged for anything in his life, but, _god_ , when it comes to Hosea he would beg his worst enemies a thousand times over just to save him.

But Hosea never stays awake, despite how much Dutch begs him to. His eyes close just like they have so many times, and Dutch should be used to it, but it still hurts just as much as it did the first time. He tries to tell Hosea that he loves him, but his mouth can't form any words, and he stutters. Who would have thought charismatic man such as himself would be so unable to use his best weapon in times that he needed to.

Hosea's body is gone far too soon, and all that's left is the blood on his hands. His breath is coming in pants so short that Dutch swears he'll pass out... but isn't he already asleep? He must be, right? But this all feels far too real.

 _Is_ Hosea dead?

He hunches over, placing both bloodied hands on the ground as he desperately tries to get air into his burning lungs. His head pounds, and his tongue is practically numb. He feels like he's going to be sick, but pushes the urges down and instead tries to breathe.

Did Dutch kill him?

 _Breathe_.

Hosea would want him to breathe.

But Hosea is dead, _isn't he?_

 _Yes_ , he is.

_Dutch killed him._

He awakens with a loud gasp, his body jolting as he cries out. His hands are wet. Wet with blood. Hosea is dead. Dutch killed him.

Dutch is fumbling for the light, his fingers barely co-operating, and he breathlessly curses under his breath. He turns on the light, wincing slightly at how bright it is, and instantly looking down at his hands. There is no red. His hands are wet with sweat, not blood. He suddenly pushes off the bed, his legs wobbling as he does so.

He needs to find Hosea, just to know that he's alive and his mind isn't playing tricks on him.

He moves over to where Hosea sleeps faster than he should seeing as his vision still slightly spins as he moves. Breathing had gotten easier, and Dutch supposes it was the fresh air. When he sees Hosea there he almost cries out in pure, unfiltered, relief. He's asleep and perfectly, well not _perfectly_ because Dutch doubts that any of them have ever been perfectly okay but, okay enough that he's still breathing, Dutch being able to tell from his light snores, and Dutch didn't ever think something like that would bring him so much joy.

He ungracefully sits down next to Hosea, although it's more due to his legs giving out from underneath him rather than any conscious decision, just needing to be near him: to know that he's alive.

Hosea _is_ alive and Dutch did _not_ kill him.

Words cannot begin to describe the relief that he feels, and Dutch so desperately wants to wake him, to hear his voice, to solidify the fact that he is still alive. But Hosea needs the sleep, practically more than anyone else in camp does, so Dutch waits. He's glad that he's outside, the breeze cools his sweating body. It's nearing morning, and Hosea will be up soon, and Dutch will finally be able to see that he is fine.

His heart is still beating slightly faster than normal, and he silently wills it to slow down. He lets his mind wander as he waits, trying to focus on good memories and not ones that makes his vision go blurry. He bows his head down and sees his hand in his lap. The same hand that killed Hosea. _But no_. Hosea is still alive. He is breathing. Dutch _did not_ kill him. But the memories of his dream come flooding back, of him, with that same ringed hand, holding the smoking gun that left that hole in Hosea's chest.

Dutch rips the rings off his hand and throws them as far as he could away. He didn't want them anymore; he didn't want the memories that they brought along.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. When he opens them, Hosea is stirring awake quietly. Hosea jumps when he sees him, and in the corner of his eye, Dutch sees his hand fly down to his holster, before realising who it was.

"Watching a man while he sleeps. Ain't that a bit creepy, Dutch?" Hosea joked, with a small chuckle, and Dutch can tell that he means nothing by it.

Dutch opens his mouth to speak but he can't find the words, and instead, he just stutters, causing Hosea to raise an eyebrow. He feels his cheeks flush red because he's rarely ever been this unable to talk. He wrings his hands in his lap, as he focuses on Hosea's face: looking at his every detail because he doesn't want to forget a single thing.

"Dutch? Are you okay?"

Dutch swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head because he's never been anything but honest when it comes to Hosea.

"I- I needed to see you," is all Dutch says, his voice meeker than he thought it would be, and Dutch mentally chastises himself for not getting himself together.

"Did you have one of those dreams again?"

Dutch nods his head.

Hosea was the only person he trusted enough to tell about the nightmares. He briefly considered telling Arthur too but he already had enough on his plate and Dutch didn't want to add to his, already _too_ long, list of things to worry about. Hosea gets up off the ground with a quiet groan and stretches before offering Dutch a hand to stand up, which he gladly takes.

"Let's get to somewhere a little more private to talk about this," Hosea says, his voice soft, before walking towards Dutch's tent, his hand still on Dutch's.

Dutch lets himself be led back to his tent and feels embarrassed about being coddled in the way that he is, but just the feeling of Hosea's hand in his own does so much to put his mind at rest. When they finally reach Dutch's tent, Hosea closing the flap behind them, Hosea tells Dutch to sit, which he does instantly.

"Do you want to explain to me what happened?" Hosea asks, gently sitting down next to him, and placing his hand atop of Dutch's.

Dutch takes a deep breath, "it was just like the ones I had before except... this time it felt so real."

Hosea squeezes his hand gently, "I'm still _here_ , Dutch."

Hosea grips Dutch's hand and brings it up to his chest, placing Dutch's palm right over Hosea's heart, "my heart's still beating."

Hosea removes his hand from atop of Dutch's, but Dutch keeps his still, feeling the steady pulse of Hosea's heart. Hosea is still alive. Dutch didn't kill him.

"Can I touch you?" Dutch says, his voice quiet, barely audible, and so _unlike_ Dutch.

"Of course," Hosea says, his voice just as quiet.

Almost instantly, Dutch brings up his other hand and places it gently on Hosea's cheek, still slightly cold from the outside. He feels the light stubble underneath his fingertips and runs his fingers lightly over the coarse bristles. His hand moves up to Hosea's hair, running his fingers lightly through the unruly strands, still messy from having only just woken up. Dutch looks at him all over, his mouth parted open in some kind of breathless wonder. With the hand placed over Hosea's heart, Dutch curls his fingers into Hosea's shirt, holding on tight like he's worried that if lets go then he'll lose Hosea forever. His other hand travels down to Hosea's neck, his fingers splayed out over the skin. Dutch's brown eyes scan over every bit of Hosea, making sure every detail is etched into his mind because any less would be a disservice to the beauty of him.

Hosea puts his hands on Dutch's arms, gripping tight enough so that it grounds Dutch, but not too tight so that it hurts, "your rings are gone," Hosea says.

Dutch shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, finally looking up at Hosea, "I threw them away. Didn't much like them anymore." 

Dutch could tell that Hosea had more to say, but Hosea keeps his mouth shut and Dutch is grateful for his silence. Instead, Hosea's hands slide up Dutch's arms until they're placed on the back of his neck and he's pulling the younger man towards him. Dutch hands curl into fists around the fabric of Hosea's shirt as Dutch buries his head into the crook of Hosea's neck. Hosea rubs small circles into his back, and Dutch relaxes his shoulders that he didn't even know were tense.

"I..." Dutch starts, trying to find the right words to say, "I- _I_ was the one who killed you, Hosea."

Hosea stops rubbing the circles into his back, and for a split second Dutch is worried that he's going to push him away, but instead, he wraps his arms around Dutch's frame and pulls him closer.

"You- you died in my arms, and it was my fault."

Hosea tightens his arms around Dutch, "you'd never hurt me, Dutch, I know that."

" _God_ , _Hosea_ ," Dutch says, his voice wavering and his grip on Hosea's shirt so tight that he's worried his fingers might break, "if you died, I don't know how I'd... how I'd _live_."

"I ain't dying any time soon, Dutch," Hosea says, the assurance in his voice so strong that Dutch has no reason not to believe him, " _someone's_ got to keep you in check."

Dutch huffs out a small laugh against Hosea's neck, content just to stay there that little while longer.

"Do you reckon you could try and get some more sleep?"

Dutch so desperately wants to, actually feeling safe in Hosea's arms has made him realise just how tired he really is, but at the same time, the fear is almost overwhelming. He doesn't know if he could cope with another nightmare.

"Could you..." Dutch trails off, losing the nerve to ask.

"Could I what?"

Dutch stays silent for a bit, trying to work up the courage to ask, and he doesn't know why he's so nervous. They've done this before, many times, _too many to count_ , and yet Dutch is scared that this time will be different: that this time Hosea will push him away, no matter how asinine the thought actually is.

"Do you want me to lay down with you?" Hosea asks, his voice gentle, no judgement in his voice.

Dutch nods.

"I would gladly."

Dutch lets out a relief ridden shaky breath upon Hosea's answer, and Dutch almost melts against him. Hosea pulls away, but Dutch doesn't let go of his grip on Hosea's shirt. Hosea places his hand on top of Dutch's and slowly pries the fingers off, holding Dutch's hands in his own. Hosea lays down on Dutch's bed, and motions for Dutch to lay with him, which he does almost instantly.

Dutch places his head on Hosea's chest, hearing the rhythmic pounding of his heart. Hosea's hands make their way to his hair, running lazily through the untamed strands. It's serene in a way that Dutch never thought someone like him could ever have, and like this, Dutch has hope that everything will be okay: that maybe, just maybe, they'll get their happy ending.

"Get some sleep, Dutch."

And when Hosea's voice is so soft like that, who is Dutch to deny him?


End file.
